One Christmas Too Late
by falsefallacy
Summary: Fairy lights.


**Title: **One Christmas Too Late (A Fan Fiction)

**Length: **One-shot

**Word Count: **3001

**Fandom: **2PM, SNSD

**Pairing/s: **Nichkhun/Yuri

**Genre: **AU, General (Romance/Angst)

**Rating: **PG-15 (for implied sexy time)

**Author's Note 1.1: **Just another late Christmas fic. Late cos I'm cool like that :")

**Author's Note 1.2: **I'm kidding! This one's for my spoiled best friend, mishieeru, who's a brilliant GA writer.

**Summary: **Just a light fairy-tale story to wish everyone good cheer and a Happy New Year :")

/

i.

Fairy lights.

Dozens of them, even hundreds if she dared count. Flickering animatedly across the ceiling, the walls, the windows, and finally halting to a stop as they looped into a hasty pattern all over a wooden door. A tree stood proudly at a corner, adorned with glittery tin-foil balls, tiny wrapped presents, plastic angels and, well, more lights.

Outside, the rehearsed singing of Christmas carols competed with the loud whistling of firecrackers and local radio music. Delighted greetings and muffled footsteps came and went just beyond the door. But, inside, the faint smell of cheer was a half-finished bottle of cheap wine—and what manly scent the snoring lump of muscle beside her emitted.

Nichkhun. She knew him, of course she does. Nichkhun..._something_. Well, apparently not long enough to know his last name or even to confirm if she heard the name right.

It was a blur. A heavy, neon pink, tequila-induced blur. Last thing she remembered was the burning trail of alcohol down her throat and the feverish kisses that went down with it.

And, now, she's here. Somewhere in the city, wrapped only in a blanket, inside a studio-type apartment she swore she has never been to before.

12:57 AM, the small kitchen clock read. Kwon Yuri cursed. It was Christmas.

The sleeping lump stirred. She panicked, eyes frantically searching for clothing. _Any piece of clothing_, she decided, picking up a rumpled gray shirt she knew wasn't hers.

"Ugh," Nichkhun grunted, roughly running a hand across his face, "What time is it?"

Yuri froze. He knew she was there. "Christmas," she gulped, throat still hoarse and mind still fuzzy, "I mean, 12—no, 1 AM."

Nichkhun bolted up, not even bothering to hide his nakedness as he hurriedly slipped on his discarded pair of boxers. "I am very sorry for keeping you," he apologized, hopping to the kitchen as he put on his jeans, "Someone must be worried and it's Christmas, you must have somewhere else to go. Do you want some coffee before I drive you home?" Without waiting for a reply, he started a fresh pot.

Yuri eyed him curiously. Surely, her presence didn't seem like an inconvenience to the man. If anything, she'd think he was still intoxicated.

"Do you have any idea who I am?", she asked cautiously, finally standing up.

"Of course I do, Yuri-sshi," Nichkhun replied, "I've seen you in my father's office. The position offered still isn't official or anything, but I come by sometimes. And he, well, he speaks highly of you."

_Speaks highly of me_, she mused. Either she's going mad or she did sleep with her boss' son. No, technically, she slept with her boss. Her new boss. Shit.

The employees Christmas party, right. Had there be another bout of social pressure when the whole office broke into a chant as the CEO's son asked her to dance. Yuri did know how to, might be quite confident with that. Being the newest staff, she knew she couldn't dare refuse.

And, then, there was a bar. Blinding lights and a counter of amnesic stupor. Another chant, _Bottoms up! Bottoms up!_ Yuri peered into the small glass, watching as the bright green contents slosh around. Drink. _That_ she didn't know how to.

"Well, I—" she backed away from Nichkhun, finally retrieving all of her clothes, "I have to get going. See you around!"

With that, Kwon Yuri bolted out of the door, wanting to look back but fought against it.

A cookie made its way into Nichkhun's mouth.

ii.

The cool January breeze seeped into the window Yuri purposely kept open, hoping to ease the suffocation that has been creeping into her collar. Trying to pay no mind, she kept her hands poised over the keyboard and typed away the week's stock report summary.

Without looking, one hand snaked across the table and into a large bag of potato chips, probing for the last bits of salty crisps, but found none. Yuri sighed in defeat, but her stomach rumbled in argument. Her eyes finally left the screen to search for anything to fill her stubborn tummy with. Her eyes stopped at a bright display of yellow tall-stemmed tulips next to a basket of the most luscious crimson red apples she have ever seen.

Yuri swallowed; those apples looked absolutely delicious from where she was looking at them.

"Hey, Yoona," she hissed.

"Hm?" the brunette hummed, hands busy sorting report folders.

"Whose fruit basket is that?"

Yoona took a quick peripheral glance, "I don't know."

"Do you suppose—?"

"No, Yul," Yoona turned back to stacking folders, "You can't eat everything you see. I'll be plenty worried if you wanted to eat the tulips too. If anything, I think you have another creature living inside your gut!"

"I was just asking," Yuri grumbled, smooching a chocolate cupcake she had the nerve to steal from Sooyoung's junk stash.

iii.

_Another creature inside your gut._

Yuri buried her face in the arms that were propped on her knees as she silently prayed for the tiny stripe of pale pink ink to disappear.

Sure, she liked cantaloupe chunks dipped in mustard and honeyed milk tea with pineapple marmalade, she hated the smell of instant coffee in the mornings, and she has always guzzled a few burnt sugar lumps before dinner. Nothing queer there.

When she began to fashion her breakfast bread into the shape of lilies and lily pads, she thought it was creative. When she started sniffing fabric conditioner while watching the evening soaps, she thought that maybe that was a little weird. When she developed the habit of nibbling the ends of her hair, she thought that was pretty gross but gradually got the hang of it.

Of course, she hated lilies, melodramatic bad acting, and ruining her hundred-dollar hair—fabric conditioner, no, she liked that—but she never gave it much thought. Stress, she reasoned out.

But all that got Yuri thinking was a question. A simple one actually, such as "Can I borrow a pad?"

Three weeks. Three weeks delayed.

Yuri dropped the white plastic stick onto the pile of white plastic sticks that pooled her bathroom floor, burying her face even deeper in Seohyun's arms.

A dozen pale pink stripes did not disappear.

v.

Nichkhun sat across from her, two cups of coffee-based drinks in between them. One was almost empty, the other Yuri haven't touched.

She played with her hands, twiddling her thumbs in a circular motion. Panicked. She remained stunned, not in denial but in confusion.

What would her friends say? Will she be shunned or will she be smothered? What would her parents say? Will they give her their blessings or would they rise up from where they were buried? What should she think of herself? That one she was most uncertain of.

And here sat Nichkhun, as calm as the January air.

"Excuse me?"

Yuri protested. Something was not quite typical. Not that she was complaining, but it _was_ unusual.

Nichkhun did not question her confession.

vi.

Friendship began when the awkwardness of the acquaintance dissolved.

It was easy with Nichkhun.

A text message a few times a day. "_Good_ _morning!" _and_ "Good night!"_ quickly evolved to "_Have a great morning, sunshine! A big breakfast to start your day!"_ and "_Don't forget to take your vitamins! Good night, moonlight!"_

Then _that _evolved to actually bringing over breakfast and personally placing the vitamin pills on Yuri's palm.

A short phone that starts with "_Are you okay over there?" _evolved to "_Do you need anything? I could come over_." The ones that start with _"Just checking if you arrived home fine." _evolved to _"Tell me about your day. I could come over if you wanted to talk."_ And those that start with _"Don't tire yourself too much!" _evolved to _"I told you not to overwork! You know better than to stress yourself out! Do you need a massage? I could come over."_

Coming over. That relieved Nichkhun when he becomes too jittery—which was all the time. He always checked and rechecked; things have to be in control under his control.

February came and Yuri realized that she disliked being under somebody's grip but with Nichkhun, somehow, she didn't mind.

vii.

February was half over and, indeed, Nichkhun was a kind man. There was nothing more to say, in fact.

Yuri loved the kindness, of course she did. She loved how he always arrived at 2:30 in the afternoon, bearing an assortment of healthful snacks, from carrot and celery sticks with peanut sauce to the foreign gourmet pastries. She loved receiving random funny text messages with complex, non-understandable emoticons at the end, like */)3. She loved being fetched during rainy days and during non-rainy days.

More so, she loved the attention.

Yuri's face broke into a smile, stealing a short peek inside Nichkhun's all-glass office. The man was adjusting his tie with one hand, his mobile phone in the other. A bouquet of yellow tall-stemmed tulips lay on his desk. Next to it was a basket of shiny, blood red apples.

Nichkhun stood up, grabbing both items as he walked out of the room.

Yuri wished she'd stop staring but, too late, he already caught her looking. He broke into the smile that had already left her face, "Hey, beautiful!" She tried to lift the corners of her mouth, surprised by the effort it took, "Hey."

"You busy?"

They both looked down at the paper crane half-folded in Yuri's hands.

"Guess you are," Nichkhun laughed, "But would you like to come with me?"

She wanted to protest, not sure why she didn't want to know who gets the flowers (and who gets to eat the apples) but, next thing she knew, she was already seated inside his 1973 Caprice.

It was beginning to get warm, more than usual March heat. The smell of old grass and a little bit of sea was calming as they drove through a quieter part of the city. Calming for the other but definitely not for Yuri, the bouquet lying on her lap.

"Where did you say we were going again?"

"I didn't," he replied, eyes remained on the road, "Just to someone I like to visit."

_Yeah, with flowers,_ Yuri can't help thinking.

Then, there it was. Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small locket attached to a thin gold band. It was unhinged, the clasp was broken. Inside was a younger Nichkhun, hair curled and eyes smiling. Beside him was an attractive woman—deep-set eyes, fuller lips and all. The sparse confines of the pendant did not deter the radiating bliss from both of their faces.

Girlfriend. _Of course_.

A man as faultless as Nichkhun might as well be a man who doesn't exist or still yet to exist, for what god can make that possible. _Faultless except for that one mistake_, Yuri corrected herself almost bitterly, _One mistake that was me._

She let out a laugh. Just to dispel her tension, the tension that built up in her subconscious. The tension that, like the growing fondness, her heart should've held back.

"We're here."

The car door clicked open. The bouquet was lifted from her lap, and Yuri's hand was taken into Nichkhun's.

They walked along a grassy trail, damp from the afternoon dew. Her hand in his, they walked. Yuri decided to be selfish for that while, memorizing the curves of Nichkhun's hand. A gentleman as he, she didn't care what moved him to hold her hand. She was selfish at the moment.

Until she saw the girl, the same girl from the picture. She didn't look different—same deep-set eyes, same plump smiling lips. Dark wavy locks cascaded down her shoulders, a striking contrast to her cream complexion.

"Hey, Tory. I'm back. You're not tired of me yet, are you?" Nichkhun offered the flowers, "I hope you're not tired of these too."

The girl smiled on.

"This is Yuri, but you must be tired of hearing about her too, aren't you? Tory, you're not mad, right?"

The tears started.

Yuri stood quietly nearby, forcing her own tears back into her eyes. Eyes that remained focused on a tuft of grass, a neatly-paved panel, and a picture of Nichkhun's dead bride.

viii.

"I'm sorry."

The sun was gone. Hands not dare break free from the other, Nichkhun and Yuri sat in silence beside Victoria's grave.

"Guillain-Barré, ascending paralysis. They couldn't do anything about it. Her heart was strong—_she_ was strong, but she just…stopped breathing."

"I'm sorry."

"She wanted to be buried here. My hometown. She said she wanted to be closer to the younger me, the me she had wanted our future kids to be like. Kids. She wanted a boy and a girl. Victor and Nicole."

"I'm sorry."

"The night before she died, Tory made a bet. That I'd love again—that for another time I'd fall in love, it wouldn't be with her. Ten dollars to play."

Nichkhun let go of her hand. Yuri could only stare at her hand helplessly.

Nichkhun pulled out a ten-dollar note from his wallet. He carefully folded the bill into a square before tucking it under the frame of Victoria's photograph. "You win," he whispered.

The night suddenly grew warmer.

"Have you fallen for me?"

"I—uhh…" Yuri stammered, unsure of how to respond.

"I have."

Nichkhun was sure that somewhere within the vast sooty sky, a star twinkled a bit brighter and Victoria smiled a bit wider.

ix.

March came, and she was happy.

So happy that Yuri gave herself knitting lessons, and was finishing a pair of lavender booties with white pompoms at the brims. Happier that she learned how to cook beyond ramyeon and fried eggs. And that she began to grow a tomato garden on Nickhun's windowsill.

Nichkhun. He alone is happiness itself.

Nichkhun had convinced her to quit work for a while, and concentrate on getting fat at home. Home, as in the studio-type apartment which Christmas decorations she had to put down one day when she learned that they had been up since Nichkhun moved in, but it wasn't something to complain about.

He cooked and he baked, Nichkhun's mother taught him at the young age of six. Whenever he was home, the apartment smelled of basil leaves and vanilla extract. Heavenly. Yuri and baby were plenty delighted by that.

Everything was excitement and in between. All in harmony and blissful blitz that Yuri paid no mind to whatever was outside her little bubble. Paid no mind to Taeyeon who dripped with jealousy as she gossiped about how her co-secretary seduced the big boss' son. Paid no mind to Sooyoung who devours half of whatever Nichkhun bakes, never mind if the tray's straight from the oven.

Almost paid no mind when she left a stain on the chair she was sitting on. Seohyun gasped, quickly enveloping her best friend into a shaky hug.

Yuri was confused. She felt no pain, not even a pinch. No sting, just blood.

x.

Ectopic.

What is ectopic?

There wasn't a baby. It's gone.

Died. It died.

It didn't reach her womb, it got stuck. Two months. It was two months dead.

She was carrying a dead baby.

They removed it before she woke up. They didn't tell her what it looked like.

A girl. She knew it was a girl. A baby girl she wanted to cuddle and play dress-up with, to dress-up in the small booties and bonnets she had knitted.

A baby girl. A dead baby girl.

Ectopic.

"I lost my baby."

Yuri hurt more when she heard herself speak. Her voice made it more real. Funny she felt pain now, such binding pain, like hollows constricting. Right there, in the middle of her abdomen. Where her baby was supposed to be.

She clutched her stomach with both hands, letting the sobs finally rage from her throat. Terrifying, piercing cries. Tears stung, tears tainted. Yuri tortured her emotions, as if the accomplishment of which could ease the pain.

Strong arms gathered her frail body towards a sturdy chest. Yuri struggled but the arms kept her firm.

Nichkhun struggled more. A pain of his own slowly ate his heart.

"It was my baby, too."

xi.

Even without the tiny blinking lights or the small décor-decked plastic tree, the room was still awfully familiar. There was no pressure, no tequila. There were no dramatic choruses of the carols everyone knew by heart, no loud whizzing of fireworks. There was no cheap wine, and no naked man sleeping beside her. At least, not yet.

And the blur, well—the blur was still there, but it was clearer than her thoughts.

In between his slow, relishing kisses, Nichkhun managed to utter, "Will you marry me?" And in between her most tasteful responses, he didn't have to hear her speak.

xii.

The rest of the year was another blur. A light, idyllic blur. And, before she knew it, Yuri was sitting in an open porch, heavily blanketed with the late December snow, at a far suburban county in South Korea. Beside her was a man, short chestnut-colored hair and rippling muscles hidden under a knitted sweater with a big picture of a reindeer up front. He was sitting on a rocking chair, and she was surprised that it still didn't give way as it was obviously _obviously _too small for him. And in his arms lay a tiny white blanket, looking a wee bit too tiny in his hold.

Yuri huddled closer to the man, resting her head on his shoulder as she gazed lovingly at the beautiful angel she never thought she could call hers. The man smiled, nudging her lightly. She smiled back as their lips touched in ceremonial gentleness.

Nichkhun Buck Horvejkul. _Horvejkul_—now, she remembers. As if the ring around her finger wasn't reminder enough.

xiii.

An array of twinkling lights accented what she believed was a picture-prefect moment. Fairy lights. Yuri loves Christmas.

/

**Footnote: **/hyperventilate I ACTUALLY FINISHED A KHUNRI FIC! I want to say that this took me forever and four days which is the truth but my ego says I finished this in thirty minutes and my ego always wins *smug (My superego says: DELUUUUUSIONAL BISSSH!) Okay, I'll stop talking to myself now. HAPPY HOLIDAYS! :")


End file.
